


The Contest: Being the Second Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: The Coin [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Another Adventure!, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 21:18:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10317167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC





	1. I: Trapped in Reality

Well, here we go again. It’s been more than two months since I’ve even picked this up; the elapsed (hey, I just found that word in the dictionary; it needs a test run) time that’s passed since the first story is around four months, total.

Last time, we met certain members of my mother’s side of the family. Well, apparently fair is fair, so this tale has to begin with the once-a-decade family reunion of what there is of my Dad’s side of the family. Three days of traveling got us to one of the smallest towns known to man, hidden off of a fire access road that meandered through a national forest for a day or two after leaving the highway. Dad was somewhat less than happy about how long it took, which, in hindsight, didn’t bode well for the rest of the trip.

Now, while all the adults were obviously making an effort to try to have a good time, it soon became obvious that there are also some very good reasons that these reunions only happen once a decade or so. Going back to the descendants of Dad’s dad’s, um... great-aunts? Maybe great-great-aunts--somehow the 43 of them managed to tick off every known box on the TV family reunion cliche list, mostly several times over.

The only semi-bright spot was the riddle-off, which, if you couldn’t guess by the name, involved everybody getting together and alternately telling and answering riddles until they missed one, in which case they were ‘out’. This was the climactic event of the three-day reunion, lasting a day in itself, with catered food and everything. I got knocked out early, and so was able to watch the rest of the event without stressing.

All of the other riddlers, my parents excepted, were obviously masters of the arts of both telling and solving a riddle. Even the kids were quick and eager, and the strains and squabbles of the past five days swiftly fell away as the day went on.

The day wore on into night, the riddles getting ever harder, until there were only a handful of riddlers left. In events like these, though, the same faces wind up at the fore, and all of the finalists were past winners of various riddling events. They would face off after an extended dinner break.

The dinner break came, and I went back to our cabin to get a new pair of pants after trying to help feed one of the infants. Apparently, the first inclination of infants and toddlers when they see me is to throw food at me, and the second is to throw up on me. I had already been through many pairs of pants during the reunion, but I suppose I’m a glutton for punishment, because I keep seeking the little vomit dispensers out.

When transferring the contents of my pockets, I found I had brought the Coin along. I never meant to bring it anywhere, but somehow, I wound up bringing it everywhere I went. I know my Dad noticed sometimes, but I’m not sure quite how often. At any rate, there it was, and without warning, I got an overpowering urge to spin it again.

I’d tried spinning the Coin several times since the first, but the only tangible result was a spinning coin. As I mentioned last time, I’ve always enjoyed spinning coins, so there was that, but I often wondered about what was happening in the Realm.

Now, after close to a week of sheer boredom and misery, the prospect of a quick spin was quite irresistible. And so, I took hold of the Coin and set it to spinning, and the world suddenly faded to a familiar gray...

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. II: Inn and Out

The First Protector didn’t put in an appearance during my journey, but that didn’t faze me. I was far too excited to be on my way back to the Realm. My excitement even overcame the vertiginous nausea the trip had caused before.

I came to my senses, as it were, in the same dingy room I had arrived in the first time, but in the meantime, someone had done a pretty good job of cleaning the place. Most of the grime and dirt was gone, and a few prominent stains were no longer visible. I took these to be signs of positive change following Alamanast’s restoration, wondered why someone wasn’t here to greet me, and went outside.

The cluster of hovels that made up the inn were markedly less dilapidated, but still there was no one in sight. My calls to the innkeeper went as unheeded as my determined pounding on the door of the main hovel. How did these people stay in business with such poor service?

The door was, in fact, unlocked, but the creak of protest as it opened sent at least a dozen troubling scenarios running through my mind, now that it was too late. Stiffening my spine, I went inside the inn.

After all that, to find the room as deserted as the rest of the area was a bit of a let-down, even though it was also a relief. Reminding myself sternly to look before next I leapt, I began a quiet exploration that only proved that the inn had been shut up for quite some time. It was almost as though the owners had packed everything with care, expecting to leave and then return after a lengthy absence, but had had to stay away far longer than they’d planned. The implications were most distressing.

I exited the hovel much more quietly than I’d entered, being careful to leave as few traces of my visit as physically possible, to include closing the main door behind me. There was still no one around, and the absence of anyone else in the area was starting to feel quite ominous. The fact that it was still full daylight was less than reassuring. I’m not sure what I’d have done if it had actually been nighttime.

As I mentioned earlier, the crossroads the inn was on resembled an outstretched hand, but I had only been up one finger of it, and had never seen any traffic on any of the other roads, and, honestly, no idea where the other roads led. On the other hand, the road I had traveled down had led through a big creepy forest filled with sporks and spooks, and if something had happened to undo some of the good I’d done the last time I was here, those sporks and spooks would probably be at least a little upset with me.

All things considered, I was probably better off going down one of the other roads to see where it would lead me. Of course, all of this rationalizing didn’t occur until after I was already a good few hundred yards down the thumb road. Yeah, ever since I’d been inducted as a Protector, my impulse control was essentially nil. Of course, now my impulses were born of the oath I’d sworn, and so the right thing, but I rather wished I actually knew why I was doing what I was in the middle of doing most of the time.

So, I went down the thumb road, and what did I find but...

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. III: The Forest of... Sheep?

And angry sheep, too. I never knew sheep could be so aggressive, but when they have some big ol’ ram who’s completely out of his flippin’ mind leading them on a banzai charge, they apparently can be. I barely made it into the tree before the psycho reached it.

The injustice of it was what really annoyed me. I had barely set foot into the forest before the ram had emerged from behind a tree, taken one look at me, and apparently decided that I was the Devil Incarnate and must be flattened. The rest of the herd had charged after it, and I, not wanting several dozen hoofmarks across my nice clothes, had decided discretion was the better part of valor. On the other hand, my discretion was swiftly ebbing before my anger.

The stupid thing lived up to its name, ramming the trunk of the tree I was in over and over. I decided to give it what it thought it wanted, and leapt out of the tree, landing gracefully on its back. It immediately decided to stop dead, but I had anticipated that, so instead of smashing into the tree trunk, I flipped over while grabbing the ram’s horns and catapulted it against the tree trunk.

The impact must have been heard for miles, even through the forest. The tree itself, an oak about three feet across at the base, nearly keeled over, swaying like a tuning fork for a good minute afterwards. The ram itself was only stunned, though. It certainly was a tough little beast.

I let the dazed ram loose enough for it to get back to its feet, and stared it down, eventually asking it pointedly, “Are we finished here?” If need be, I would beat the thing into submission, but something in me told me not to just kill it and be done with it. The rest of the sheep seemed to hold their collective breath in anticipation of what the ram’s response might be.

The ram hesitated for quite some time. Out of nowhere, a raven perched on its head, looking back and forth between me and the ram. I suddenly became aware of dozens of other forest denizens gathering to watch the clash of wills between man and beast.

The various watchers kept eerily still, and the silence began to creep me out, but I wasn’t about to let the stupid ram win on a technicality, so I kept my gaze pinned on its eyes. It stared back, as unwilling to yield as I was.

A bunny hopped into my lap, adding its stare to mine, and then another, until an entire warren’s worth of bunnies joined me in staring the ram down. I could feel the balance shifting decisively and irrevocably in my favor like a great stone finally starting to roll down a hill, and, sure enough, a moment later, the ram looked down and away, finally conceding its defeat, though reluctantly as ever.

“Well,” said a very familiar snide voice that came from behind me, “that was a most impressive feat, indeed. Were you waiting for the approbation of the crowd, or should I simply throw some suitable remuneration at your feet?” A girl garbed as a shepherdess stood watching the motley gathering of forest fauna around the clash of wills just past.

“Neither, O Princess Alamsta,” I said, ignoring her start of surprise when I said her name. “Evidently, this ram and I were merely waiting for you to join us.” The ram snorted in what might have been amusement, or maybe just loose phlegm. Standing, I turned to face the suddenly flustered shepherdess...

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. IV: Alamsta Enters

Yes, the shepherdess was, in fact, the Princess Alamsta, but my inquiries of her proved that her memories of our prior escapade had somehow been excised. Therefore, when her gaze met mine, it was heavily laden with healthy suspicion.

Alamsta proved less than willing to just up and run off to the Royal Castle with me, though: she demanded a very good reason to give her father in explanation, and I had bupkis. Well, I had a wild story no one in their right mind would believe that started with, “Your memories of this were wiped, so...” Very convincing.

Apparently, she was being punished for some minor misdeed by having to go out and tend to the sheep for a day. I’m not quite sure why, but somehow I got the impression that this was not an unusual occurrence, and certainly Alamsta proved to be quite capable at managing the flock, the large and tendentious ram notwithstanding.

Between one blink and another, I was underwater. The salty water stung my eyes, nose and mouth terribly, and I broke the surface in a fit of convulsive coughs and sputtering to find that I was in the middle of an ocean on a hot and sunny day, with no land to be seen nearby. How on Earth did these things keep happening to me?

A few feet away, Alamsta surfaced as well. She was a lot more encumbered by her dress, which acted like a sponge, than I was by my clothes, so I tried to get closer to her. Unfortunately, I am not the world’s greatest swimmer, so it was pretty hard just staying afloat.

Something brushed my leg, then nudged it again. I was certain it was a shark, but sharks don’t say baaaa. When I heard that, I looked down. If I stared hard enough, I could see the forest through the water, and the ram nudging me in puzzlement, but I could still feel the water, smell the water, and even taste the water.

Next came a sudden undertow, one that sucked me down faster than I’d expected, and I only had time to cry out, “Whoa!” before I was in free fall, what looked like thousands and thousands of feet above the Earth, and Alamsta was absolutely freaking out just a few yards away. If I squinted, I could still see the forest, though.

Then, and without any sensation of landing (or crashing), the two of us were crawling through a burning hot desert. I kept telling myself that it was all an illusion, but my roasting body didn’t want to believe me, even though I could see the forest a little more clearly now.

Sudden cold replaced the sweltering heat in an instant, a murderous, crippling cold that ripped away even the memory of warmth. The landscape was one of utterly desolate blue-white, the bluish white of glaciers that never melted in a land of eternal winter. No; there was the forest, somehow beyond the snow and behind and under the ice.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to resist the illusion. It wasn’t real, I told myself over and over, but it didn’t help. With each passing second, I could feel myself succumb a little more to the frigidity my body thought was around me. Eventually, I cried out, aloud, “Helllllllllllllllllllllllp!”

In the next instant, the cold was not. The heat was not. The falling and the drowning and all the fears the illusion were made of, simply were not. I stood next to a quivering Alamsta and a very confused ram in the middle of the forest, and there was the stillness of utter peace all around us.

“Now can we go to the Castle?” I panted, and Alamsta slowly nodded in response, the fear gradually ebbing from her wide eyes...

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. V: Tools of the Trade

We wasted no time in returning to the Royal Castle. While Alamsta handed her sheep over to the herders, I went immediately to the Reliquary, the place from which I’d previously retrieved the Medallion. I was hoping to see the First Protector’s shade as well, and wasn’t disappointed.

‘Ah, Young Protector. You have arrived precisely as expected. You have some questions you wish to put to me, do you not?’

“With regard to the illusions we faced on our journey here: how were they made so powerful?” I asked the First Protector. “Who created them, and why?”

‘All of your questions shall be answered in due course.’ Well, that was certainly reassuring to hear; ha, ha, ha, just kidding. ‘It shall take quite some time, I see, and must comprehend the entirety of the history of the Protectorship.’

“Um... Is it not permissible that you should condense the history into such as the ‘background’ section of Book One from an epic poem?” I asked, not particularly willing to let whatever it was that I’d be facing have that much more prep time.

‘Briefly, then, this has been the cause of all of your deliverance: the Protector serves Someone Else, and should the Protector cry out in an appeal to that Someone, then surely that Protector shall be delivered from his troubles.’

My brow knotted. “I think I take your meaning, but if you’d elucidate a bit further, it might clarify a few troubling points for me.”

‘There are powers beyond man, and powers beyond those powers, and then there is the One Above All, Whose Name I cannot speak, but to Whose Will we are both bound as Protectors, you and I. The Magician has made himself a willing slave unto the Great Enemy of the One we serve, and so the power he wields is utterly opposed to ours. Darkness is his master, but we are agents of the light.’

I nodded, remembering the Magician’s sadistic taunting of... well, anyone who had the misfortune to fall under his power. One thing was certain: he was in no way an agent of anything that could legitimately call itself good.

‘All of the dark power wielded by the Magician and his allies stems from this same corrupt source, and, despite its vainglorious boasting, that power can only be used in certain ways. When such power is channeled through an incorporeal user, the resulting act cannot be of a corporeal nature, but instead must be chimerical, in every sense of the word, as you have witnessed.’

“Howbeit the spooks against which I strove on the last occasion in which I was called here were able to physically attack me?” I asked with a certain degree of skepticism. That particular fight, my first here in the Realm, stood out as a toughie in my memory.

‘They did not; their efforts were of the same kind and order that the ones you just faced were: illusions; but since you could not have known that, an illusion of the Sword manifested itself as a weapon for you to wield against the spooks’ illusions.’

“And it was able to defeat the sporks that followed after because I, a corporeal being, was wielding it,” I surmised.

‘Precisely, Young Protector. It is well that you have been given such perspicacity. It can be of great use against our enemies.’

I got back to my feet. “At whose mention, I must depart, that I may defeat them with enough despatch that their evils against the Realm are minimal.”

‘Are you so certain of yourself, then?’

“Oh, quite the contrary.” With a sheepish smile, I explained, “Rather, I put my trust in the powers of the Protectorship, that they will enable me to conquer where otherwise there would be only failure.”

‘If you are truly prepared to defeat our enemies, then you should have--’

I interrupted, “--no trouble in defeating you. Naturally, it would come to that. And what if I have no interest in defeating you, Venerable Master? Must we fight simply in order to satisfy your doubts about my fitness as Protector?"

‘No: we must fight in order to satisfy YOUR doubts about your fitness as Protector. Besides, not every fit Protector is fit for every job that needs a Protector, as I have found at great cost.’

“But it is not right that two Protectors should spar and strive against one another,” I argued. “Only evil is served by good men quarreling.”

The Shade of the First Protector smiled at me. ‘And thus well you wield the only weapon of which you shall have need: your wits. Keep them sharp about you, and beware the Foe.’

The Shade vanished, and, after respectfully donning the Medallion, I turned to leave, ready for the inevitable battle...

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. VI: An Unlooked for Advent

As I made my way down to the Throne Room, I began a chant I’d learned many years ago as a kindergartener at a monastery school. The Medallion must have liked the chant, because it began to glow, getting brighter and brighter with each note.

The door to the Throne Room was guarded, of course, but the radiant Medallion hanging from my neck proved the only token I needed to enter. As I did so, the herald announced, “The Young Protector,” proving that someone remembered my earlier sobriquet, at least.

In stark contrast to my first visit, all now seemed right with the world when I entered the vast Throne Room: Alamanast was on the Throne; his daughters, including Alamsta, milled about behind him; and the remainder of the various and sundry characters who made up the Court were arrayed in their proper places.

Once Alamsta saw me, she immediately stepped forward to address the Throne. “O my Royal Father, this is the boy who rescued me from my peril in the woods on this morning.”

“And he bears the Medallion, as only a Protector may,” the king mused. “Come here, Young Protector, that We may view your fair countenance unhindered by distance and the declining sight of aged eyes.”

Once I had stepped forward, the king looked me over from top to bottom (seriously, I’ve had physicals that seemed perfunctory compared to this), nodded and told the Lord Chamberlain, “Summon unto Us Our Royal Sage, that he may bear witness to this.”

Had His Majesty brought a new member into his Court? How odd a thought that was. Somehow, the thought of all the other people who had to be out there working the farms and such never came to mind when I visited the Realm.

The Magician swaggered into the Throne Room in all of his fabulous, cartoonish glory. When he caught sight of me, his eyes narrowed and his face darkened with rage. As for myself, my mouth had fallen open at my first glimpse of the man I had supposedly killed (and even had cremated, for crying out loud!) so many months ago.

“Bunny boy,” he breathed. Even for him, that was low, but I stood my ground, waiting for his first attack. We eyed each other for another moment or two.

“Hail, Pincushion! Well met,” I snarled back, hoping to provoke him, just as he was trying to provoke me. Again, neither of us moved, each waiting for the other to make a mistake.

Finally, the Magician’s patience snapped. “Are you but a statue, boy? Or are you a cringing little bunny, indeed?”

The Magician gestured semi-obscenely at me, and the Medallion flashed even brighter for a moment, but this time, no vision of the evil spell’s intent came to my eyes. Instead, smoke billowed around the Magician’s feet, a thick, misty smoke not unlike the clouds that had poured from my grandfather’s pipe on my only visit before his passing, only the Magician’s smoke was tinged with green instead of blue, and the shapes it formed brought to mind horrors instead of fascination.

Was the Magician trying to gas me? I took in one deep breath and let it out in a long, strong, get-all-the-candles-on-the-cake-out blow--and the smoke vanished, abruptly and entirely.

The Magician said something that I really don’t think was an incantation, but I brandished the Medallion at him again and he subsided, still giving me a death glare.

And why were the guards just standing there like iron pillars through all of this? I was about to raise the roof about it when the Magician waved his hand and said, “That Relic that you bear cannot ward against all my power, bunny-boy.” Uh oh...

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. VII: Riddle Me This

Seeing my worried expression, the Magician somehow twisted his face into an even uglier expression of his own, though how still mystifies me. Probably he used magic, or ate sardines. “I INVOKE THE ADJUDICATOR! I CALL FOR THE CONTEST OF WITS!”

Everything turned gray; only the Magician and I seemed illuminated. A heavy, oppressive silence reigned. Then, finally, another voice spoke. “I AM HERE. STATE YOUR CLAIMS.”

The Magician began a long oration in purest Gobbledygook, and as he spoke, scrolls began to appear, and a small egg-timer-like thingy. I tried to ask what was going on, but I found I couldn’t speak. Nevertheless, the First Protector answered me, in my head.

‘The Adjudicator is a mid-level Power that has been bound to rightfully judge any trial that a lesser power may put before it; it enforces the rules and disciplines any powers or agents that it determines have gone rogue.’ Translation: like any bully, since he was losing, and he knew it, the Magician went crying to Mommy Adjudicator that it wasn’t a fair fight. ‘Individual Protectors can fall under its purview, so do not argue with its authority.’

So much for what the Cook's Guide to the Realm and the Protectorship thereof had to say on the matter at hand. On the other hand, the information might prove useful if it meant I could counter-charge the Magician, perhaps on the grounds of him being back from the dead.

“IT IS DECIDED. LET THE CONTEST OF WITS BEGIN.”

I tried one last time to find out what was going on. “What is this ‘Contest of Wits’ of which you have spoken?”

The Magician smiled. Nothing good is in the works when you see a smile like that. “These scrolls bear riddles,” he gestured to the floating parchment, “which must be solved in the allotted time.” His next gesture indicated the egg-timer. “The only way to banish me is to solve the riddles. But if you should fail, you will be banished instead.” Yay.

“So this momentous matter fraught with weight and portent is to be decided by a riddling contest, in the end.” I was about to go off on how this was in no way, shape, manner or form anything like a test of whether I was still Good or not, but I kept quiet for now, deferring to what the First Protector had told me.

Did I already mention that I was knocked out of the riddle-off in the second round?

“Then let it begin,” I finally said on a sigh, as there was really no other choice.

The Magician tipped the miniature hourglass, and the first scroll unrolled itself within easy reading distance. At first it was blank, but as it finished unrolling, letters formed upon the formerly pristine parchment.

When I saw the first riddle, I nearly sighed in relief.

_What goes on four legs in the morning,_  
two legs in the afternoon,   
and three legs in the evening? 

I shut my eyes briefly and said, “Man, for as a babe he crawls, as an adult he walks, and as an elder he must use a cane.” My fingers were crossed.

A great GONGGG sounded, the egg-timer-thingy spun madly, and the second scroll unrolled before me.

I couldn’t hold back a laugh of surprise at the second riddle. It was just... silly.

_How much wood_  
would a woodchuck chuck  
if a woodchuck  
could chuck wood? 

“As much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.”

GONGGG! I winced. That could really get annoying.

The third riddle was as easy as the first two had been; almost suspiciously so.

_As I was going to St. Ives,_  
I met a man with seven wives.  
Each wife had seven sacks;  
each sack had seven cats;  
each cat had seven kittens.  
Kits, cats, sacks, wives:  
how many were going to St. Ives? 

“Only one.”

Came the GONGGG, to my relief. “Three up, three down,” I muttered to myself.

The Magician smiled cruelly. “As you say, three down--out of seven.”

Oh, rats. I turned back. Sure enough, there was another scroll, already open, the timer hissing away as the sands ran down.

Fortunately for me, this fourth riddle was just as easy as the others had been.

_What disappears when you stand up?_

“Your lap.” 

Another GONGGG, another scroll.

In an odd display of variety, the fifth riddle was an incomplete limerick, with COMPLETE THE LIMERICK written above it. I stink at poetry.

_That Christmas so long, long ago_  
Had angels who put on a show  
What gifts if you please  
Bore the men from the East? 

“Why, frankincense, myrrh, and some gold.”

GONGGG! This was starting to get irksome, especially since, instead of growing more confident as I solved each riddle, I grew less, always expecting some dirty trick or other to pull the rug from under me at the end.

The sixth was still easy. By now, my nerves were screaming with paranoia. It was all just TOO EASY! I mean, the Magician had to have some stupid, lying, and/or evil trick up his sleeve here.

_You’re in a room with an all-southern view. A bear passes the window. What color is the bear?_

“White.” This time I covered my ears, but it didn’t help much.

My first thought when I saw the seventh riddle form was, who wrote this, what were they smoking at the time and where can I get some? My second was an odd sense of relief: finally, a riddle that was actually, you know, difficult.

_Eagles fighting eagles, fighting eagles anon._  
Eagles fly in, and eagles are gone.   
The lion is at bay, and the bear’s time is done.   
In this war of eagles, which eagles won? 

Okay, this would take some thought. The Magician had a stupid gloating look on his face that said plainly, ‘You won’t solve this!’ The heck I wouldn’t.

So, what did I have to go on? This wasn’t Tolkien it was talking about, thus excluding literalism, so it had to be some weird symbolic thing. Eagles, eagles and eagles--Something stirred in the back of my mind.

The stupid gloating look on the Magician’s face grew bolder as my time ran inexorably down. Wait a second-- “The Bald Eagle was the Victor!” I blurted, just barely before time ran out (in the best cinematic tradition).

I was never so happy to hear an annoying GONGGG in my life. I turned to the Magician, who’d gone utterly white. All seven scrolls flew to him, wrapping themselves around him until he looked like a mummy from a bad horror film, and then--

I gasped in shock as the bound Magician burst into flame, a hideous, sickly green flame that made one think of moldering decay. In a final horrific act, The Magician drew a deep breath and screamed, long, loud, and utterly despairing...

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. VIII: More Janitorial Duties

The scream echoed through the chamber long after the flames finished consuming The Magician. No one spoke after that for what seemed even longer, though probably it wasn’t.

Eventually, the King spoke, though to the Lord Chamberlain instead of me. “Summon unto Us Our Royal Sage, that he may bear witness to this.” Wait, what?

‘They have been held unawares during all of this,’ the First Protector told me. ‘For them, no time has passed since you first stepped forward to be viewed by His Majesty.’

I piped up. “Your Majesty, the Royal Sage will not appear: he is the cause of my coming.” I tried telling them about what had happened the last time I came to the Realm, but most of them got the look adults get on their faces when they think you’re just spinning them a tale but they don’t want to hurt your feelings by openly mocking you.

I ended with, “And thus would it seem that my task here is complete,” just as Lackey #17 came back from looking high and low for the Royal Sage with the news that no trace of that person remained in the Castle. “If Your Majesty please, I shall return the Medallion now and take my leave.”

Back in the Reliquary, the Shade of the First Protector awaited me, as I’d expected. ‘Well done, Young Protector. And in answer to your earlier objections, Good always follows the Rules, even when those Rules are arbitrary and nonsensical, unless they direct the Good to do Evil. So, by throwing the most ridiculous, arbitrary, and frankly meaningless contest imaginable at you, the Adjudicator was judging your commitment to following the Rules, whether they were meaningful or not, and you passed muster.’

Now that actually made a weird sort of sense, like a test of faith or devotion. “And this is where we say farewell, I suppose,” I said as the world turned that swirly gray around me that signified that the Inter-World Express had set off.

‘Yes, but do not let that dismay you: we shall meet again.’

With that, I was sitting on the bed back in our cabin, still in a soiled pair of pants, watching the Coin twirl to a stop. Back to normality.

On the other hand, if I hurried, I’d still make it back in time to get dinner and see the end of the riddle-off. With that cheery thought in mind, I changed my pants and went back outside.

THUS ENDS

The Contest

Being the Second Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion

THE STORY CONTINUES WITH

The Undesired Princess & the Enchanted Bunny (Again)

Being the Third Tale of the Coin, the Sword and the Medallion


End file.
